


Plans Unmade

by issaro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bossy!Thorin, Consort Under the Mountain, Dwarves in the Shire, Frottage, Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday Gift Exchange, King Under the Mountain, M/M, Size Difference, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/issaro/pseuds/issaro
Summary: Dwarrow are not Hobbits. Unfortunately, being reminded of this in the middle of a diplomatic trip to the Shire with half of Erebor's Court and far too many Took relatives as witnesses is less than ideal for Bilbo.Thorin may not understand what has driven Bilbo to distraction but given a small bit of privacy, he's more than willing to take advantage of the circumstances.





	Plans Unmade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaturnineAgent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnineAgent/gifts).



> A very Happy Hobbity Holiday to the lovely SaturnineAgent. I hope this fulfills all your smutty wishes!

Bilbo was a planner. Whether it was a mid-week court day without the King or a much anticipated trip to the Shire with the entirety of Erebor’s Small Court in tow, Bilbo lived for (and by) his carefully constructed plans. And planning such a trip, back to the start again, was just the sort of project that Bilbo reveled in. 

Preparing for the trip had quite livened up an otherwise routinely long winter and if the dwarves forced to attend his meetings had perhaps not been as enthusiastic as Bilbo, well, that hadn’t dulled his pleasure in the least. And attend they all had, with barely any protest truth be told. After all, the King had announced his plans to travel to the Shire the following summer during Erebor’s annual Yule Celebration. 

A gift to his Consort, thought Bilbo with a fond curl to his lips. The King hadn’t named it as such but Bilbo knew exactly why he’d chosen that particular moment to make such an announcement. And all his dwarrow had found it terribly romantic, if the subsequent gossip was anything to go by. There and back to the mountain by Durin’s day in a mirror of the journey that had first brought the King and his Consort to Erebor. Bilbo could appreciate the symmetry of it even as he was privately amused by the very dwarvishness of the gesture.

The one time someone had been brave enough (or annoyed enough) to mention the lack of planning for a certain quest and how well that had turned out, Bilbo had gravely nodded in agreement and pointed out, very politely, of course, that that was exactly why Bilbo was a planner. Because when there wasn't a plan and he gave in to the heat of his emotions and the stirring of his heart, he ended up traipsing halfway across Middle Earth in nothing but his nice, walking coat and a rucksack full of everything close at hand and nothing he actually needed for a quest to bugler from a dragon. Luck was no substitute for good planning.

Yes, Bilbo thought, settling a bit more deeply into his comfortable seat and casting a fond look out at the bucolic scene before him, there was a certain level of satisfaction to be had in a well executed plan. Having made it to the Shire with everyone accounted for, no one lost to goblin tunnels or an elvish prison, was a very satisfying thing indeed.

Of course, one of those things had honestly not been a true concern - he'd very deliberately limited the time the party had spent in the Greenwood and Lord Elrond didn't have any prisons as far as he knew - but the other had been a less outlandish concern then one might initially imagine. Thorin had very casually mentioned more than once as they had approached the foothills of the Misty Mountains that a detour of only a half week would bring them to the shores of Mirrormere. At which point, Dwalin had faithfully added in a not at all convincingly off-hand manner that it might not be a bad thing to send a scout or two to check on the state of the goblin hoard. Bilbo had resolutely ignored their comments and they had kept to the agreed upon timetable and route.

Thoughts of scheming dwarrow had Bilbo conducting a seruptious headcount under cover of pouring himself more lemonade from the nicely iced pitcher at his elbow. The Court stood out like odd bits of statuary in a garden of brightly dressed Hobbits but even then it took Bilbo long moments to track down the usual suspects. A bright flash of summer bleached blonde hair, a booming laugh, and a distinctive quick step soon had everyone accounted for and Bilbo settled back again to enjoy the shade and the intermittent breeze.

They had all arrived safe and sound, and most importantly, exactly as planned, one week before the first day of the High Summer holiday at the Great Smials of Tuckbourough. It would have been rude, after all, to not arrive as scheduled and throw all the plans the Tooks had made into disarray. As it was, they had been welcomed in high style by his cousin Fortinbras, now Thain, and what had to have been at least half of the Hobbits in residence including his Aunts Rosa and Donnamira, now quite respectably advanced in age and undisputed matriarchs of the family. 

Bilbo snorted softly at the absurd memory of their welcome. His cousin, supposedly grown very respectable, had nearly busted the shiney row of brass buttons down his well cut waistcoat trying to hold in his snickering at the Aunts’ very proper and very long winded welcome. A welcome that had kept them all standing in the afternoon sun for a not inconsiderable amount of time and included a recitation of every single title and honorific that the dwarves had bestowed on the King and his Consort. As not a single Hobbit in all of the Shire could have possibly compiled such a complete list of titles, some of which Bilbo knew for certain were strictly in dwarvish Khudzul and had never before been translated into Westeron, he had plans for a certain Wizard the next time they met.

Now though, with all the silly pageantry of their arrival a day past, it was, in fact, a very satisfied Hobbit that now sat beneath the shade of a few tall Dogwoods, overseeing the surprisingly successful efforts of his dwarrow to play a highly civilized game of pall-mall with a cadre of hobbits. Watching the Mistress of the Miner’s Guild neatly tap her ball through an iron hoop reminded him nothing so much as summer afternoons in Hobbiton when the families from the neighboring smials would gather for lawn games and tea and cakes and games of chase to wear out even the most determined of faunts. The scene was exactly what he'd imagined, and looked forward to as he'd planned through the long winter and Bilbo was quiet determined that he would enjoy it now that they were here.

He even found that sitting here, made lethargic by the heavy summer air and the sounds of content dwarrow and hobbits, that he didn’t have it within himself to wish to be anywhere else, not even Bag End. 

Once upon a time, the dream of returning to the Shire had been analogous with a return to his family smial. In the early days of the Quest, the dream had simply been to pack up, turn his pony West, and return to the comforts of hearth and home. The dream had changed as his relationships with his dwarrow had grown, changed from a return to his safe, solitary life to a return to a home he would happily welcome traveling friends to. And eventually, to furtive dreams of a home for more than just himself where the disappointments and pain of a failed quest might be soothed by companionship and love. But instead of living those dreams, a dwarrow King had offered him a home in a Mountain far to the East and Bilbo had passed his home on to a cousin just discovering his own dreams for a new family.

He quite happily found that the company of the Tooks and the lush surroundings of Tuckbourough suited him just fine on this glorious summer day. He was a very satisfied hobbit indeed. Almost perfectly happy, he would say. If not for one small thing. 

Or not so small, as it were, Bilbo thought in a bit of sly humour.

After being subjected to half a winter’s worth of planning, any dwarrow would swear that Bilbo had planned for all contingencies. Biblo wasn’t so proud as to claim to have thought of everything but he would have agreed that the plan included everything that could be reasonably anticipated. And in that he had still been proven very wrong. 

As soon as they’d crossed the Brandywine Bridge, he'd known something was off. By the time they’d been ushered into the Great Smials, it had become glaringly obvious how very much Bilbo was wrong. And like most things these days, Thorin was at the center of it.

In a mirror to his thoughts, Bilbo’s eyes were drawn to his dwarrow. Thorin stood speaking with a hobbit that Bilbo couldn’t quite place, although that was more due to Bilbo’s inability to focus on anyone other than Thorin rather than the distance. His dwarrow was clad in thin linen pants and a sleeveless tunic over an equally thin summer weight shirt. None of it was scandalous. Even under the full summer sun, no hint of ink or furred chest shadowed the fabric. It was entirely respectable. Except Bilbo’s traitorous mind could take the most mundane of situations and cast it as so much more.

As odd as it was to say, Bilbo had forgotten the obvious; that dwarves, and Thorin in particular, were not hobbits. They were in point of fact, quite a bit bigger. Not man sized big, of course, but in comparison to a hobbit - undeniably big. The people of middle earth, by which Bilbo meant men and elves and yes, even wizards, tended to lump dwarrow and hobbits together as the small peoples. They were natural sized, whereas hobbits and dwarrow were not, and that was the extent of their world view. As a hobbit living among dwarrow and trading closely with men, Bilbo often found himself commiserating with the dwarrow about the blindness of tall people, sharing in the bond of like sized races against the hubris of the taller members of Middle Earth.

But the truth was that hobbits and dwarrow were not equitable in size. Being in the Shire with an entourage of dwarrow had reminded Bilbo of that very keenly. And now that Bilbo had been reminded of that fact, there was no escaping it. 

This wasn't a bad thing in and of itself. There is utility in remembering that he was not a slightly odd dwarrow but a representative of an entire race, among who the dwarrow now found themselves guests. All this would be well and good if that was as far as it went but of course, that couldn’t be the whole of it. Because as the almost unending tightness of his trousers could attest, Bilbo was very much appreciative of the size of his dwarrow in general and at this moment, one in particular.

Across the lawn, Thorin took his mallet in hand and strode across the pitch - a sweep of well-tended green that had probably been the bane of many a frustrated ‘tween this summer tasked with the never ending duty of keeping it trimmed to the appropriate length for summer games. Bilbo made a mental note to call in a favor or two with some of the Guild Masters with particularly interesting crafts to spend a few hours humouring the impertinent questions of the young as a reward before his attention was caught again by Thorin. 

From his comfortable vantage point, Bilbo could just see how his fingers splayed downward along the shaft of the mallet both balancing the weight of the heavy head and spreading wide to avoid overlapping awkwardly around the wooden shaft. Bilbo’s mind suggestively supplied an image of Thorin’s hands wrapped around something else entirely and he felt his face flush from something other than the summer heat.

Thorin stooped every so slightly more than normal for a hobbit to line his shot and when he pulled back the mallet to swing, Bilbo could see him hesitate before striking, gauging his strength a bit more closely than any hobbit would. The ball sailed neatly down the pitch and the crowd offered polite applause as it slowed and came to a stop within striking distance of the hoop.

As Thorin followed his ball down the lawn, he passed groups of dwarrow and hobbits lining the field to watch like Bilbo or take their turn at play but Bilbo never lost sight of him. He was tall by dwarrow standards, Bilbo knew, but here he stood head and shoulders taller than the Hobbits gathered to watch. As he approached the iron hoop, his cousins Lalia and Esmeralda stood close to watch their own balls and Bilbo could not help but appreciate how his cousins looked almost slight in comparison.

A polite cough from his right hand side reminded hims sharply that he was not alone. His great aunt twice removed had very kindly offered to bring him up-to-date on the goings on of the Shire as soon as he and Thorin had made their way out doors this afternoon. Thorin had delightedly abandoned him to his fate when the games had started, leaving Bilbo to fend for himself amidst a sea of older relatives excited by the prospect of a new audience. One of which was now eyeing him with a knowing smile. He fought a flush of childish shame that not even half a century of life could combat. No number of years could mitigate the embarrassment of being caught in a half aroused state by a family elder. 

"My apologies, Great Aunt, you were saying?" He subtly shifted in his seat trying to find a bit of relief for his marked interest in his husband without drawing further attention.

His aunt only smiled wickedly and proceeded to regale him with the most stultifyingly boring story of his cousin's latest escapades. At a later time, Bilbo might better appreciate her ability to make what should have been amusing family gossip boring enough to punish inattentive listeners but even her cheeky rebuke couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering again. And no matter how guilty he might feel about his gaffe, he was also more than willing to let Thorin rescue him once he'd completed the round and excused himself from the game.

"Great Aunt," Thorin greeted with a respectful nod of his head that while not overly deferential still had his aunt coloring with pleasure. Never let it be said that Thorin didn't know how to make the most of his royal training. "If you would excuse us, I'm afraid I am in need of my Consort for a moment."

Bilbo was quite proud of his ability to nod seriously and rise to take Thorin’s arm without an outward sign of how silly he found the very idea of treating his Aunt like the most hidebound of Thorin’s councillors. Thorin could have probably gotten away with a wink and suggestive smile but considering that she let them go without a even the required offer for another cup of lemonade or an iced biscuit, perhaps Thorin had the right of it.

Placing Bilbo's hand on his forearm, he led them over to where Fíli and yet another of his cousin's stood waiting.

"I see you’ve successfully made your escape," Adalgrim smiled as they joined him. Thorin grinned back, open and bright in a way that never failed to make Bilbo's heart thump a bit out of time.

"Not quite yet, but if you would walk with us in the direction of the hall, after a few minutes of suitably deep conversation with the brother of the Thain, we may be able to successfully escape indoors while everyone else is otherwise engaged.” Thorin glanced over at his nephew who was gamely keeping pace with their stately stroll. “I do believe, Fíli, that you had promised to play the next round with Bilbo’s third cousin, had you not?”

Fíli grinned back good naturedly and corrected, “Great niece, Uncle, and our game will be quite the event. She has assured me that she is the reigning champion, four years running. The glory of our House has been called into question.”

Aldagrim schooled his face into a serious expression that only the most blind of observers would believe and motioned the three of them grandly back in the direction of the side door. "Six years running, I believe, and I would be more than happy to be of service to my new favorite cousin."

Bilbo fought the twin urges to smile and snort at their combined outlandish behavior. He never should have doubted the Took’s ability to drag even the his most staid of dwarrow into their absurdness.

"I hate you," he said through a falsely bland expression, deliberately not clarifying who was included in the statement.

Thorin nodded in all seriousness and followed along beside Aldagrim but his eyes gave away his amusement for them all to see.

"Come, cousin," Aldagrim laughed, breaking character for a brief moment. "You cannot tell me you wouldn't appreciate a moment alone after a full day of family and this Court of yours.”

Bilbo sighed heavily at Aldagrim’s insistence on assigning blame to Bilbo for all that he found most amusing and nonsensical about the dwarven entourage.

“It is a lovely day, though perhaps a bit hot. And you have just arrived really. No one would begrudge you a bit of time to yourselves." Aldagrim added with a softer smile.

They were tantalizingly close to the door. Thorin's hand had come to rest, wide and warm, spanning the full width of his shoulder blade and Bilbo found he didn’t care what the gossip mongers of their Court might say to them leaving so precipitously. It was a glorious day, they were in the Shire with no true demands on their time, and he was going to enjoy every minute of his summer holiday.

Bilbo gave a short nod, much the same as Thorin had done moments earlier and gave every indication that he was excusing himself to follow up on something of his discussion with Aldagrim as he made good his escape to the cool interior of the halls. And if Fíli and his cousin laughed under their breaths at his acting, he could pretend he hadn't heard them at all as Thorin closed the door on them both.

Inside was cool and shadowed and Bilbo’s flesh immediately pebbled with pleasure. Thorin smiled and tilted his head to the side indicating a hallway leading further into the shadowed interior.

“This way, I believe?”

Thorin set off without waiting on Bilbo’s response and honestly, Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what he would have said. The direction Thorin had chosen led deeper into the smial past the public rooms to the family quarters. His goal could be the library or the kitchen or their rooms (in a roundabout way) or he could just be walking at random. It was impossible to say without asking but there was a little thrill of anticipation in just following where Thorin might lead. He had very deliberately drawn Bilbo away for a bit of privacy. The low level arousal that Bilbo had been fighting all afternoon sparked and caught fire.

Out of sight of the Court and his family, Bilbo suddenly felt free to indulge himself. He watched avidly as Thorin walked a few steps ahead of him. His linen pants stretched around on his thick thighs with each step, pulling and clinging in a truly distracting manner. Beneath the tail of his tunic, Bilbo could only imagine the same close embrace of fabric along Thorin’s well muscled rear.

An amused chuckle brought his thoughts and eyes back up to more respectable environs. His steps had taken him wide of Thorin and his husband was looking back over his shoulder at Bilbo with a self satisfied smile as he continued to walk deeper into the smial.

Bilbo offered a smirk of his own, all teeth and unrepentant desire. Thorin matched him grin for grin before ducking left at the next intersection. Bilbo’s thoughts were immediately derailed by the sight of Thorin’s wide shoulders brushing high along the lintel. In the smaller side passage, his dwarrow’s silhouette seemed to block out all but the edges of Bilbo’s line of sight. He knew it was just a trick of the dimmer lighting and his own intense focus on Thorin but logic had long since taken flight in the face of Bilbo’s lust.

So focused was Bilbo that he nearly ran straight into Thorin when he unexpectedly came to a stop. Bilbo avoided a collision by the narrowest of margins that left him with one hand splayed against the small of Thorin’s back and his nose tantalizingly close to fabric. Bilbo shamelessly took a moment to dig his fingers into the firm flesh of Thorin’s spine and breath in deeply. Thorin smelled sun warmed fabric and the faintest tang of sweat. In the silence of the hall, the dwarf was all the Bilbo heard and felt and smelled and in that moment all Bilbo knew was eclipsed by Thorin.

He sighed as the mountain shifted and he was turned and drawn in. Without quite knowing how it happened, he found himself with his right hand braced flat against wood paneling and his back pressed close to Thorin’s chest. A heavy dwarven arm curled around his bicep, pinning his left arm to his side, as a hand splayed across his chest over his heart. Thorin pulled Bilbo back against him tightly as his other hand snuck around Bilbo’s hip, fingers digging into the warm flesh of his lower belly.

Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned his head back to rest on the solid bulk of the dwarf behind him. Thorin’s name escaped his lips without forethought. He didn’t know if he chastised or asked or prayed. Perhaps it was all three. It took a moment for Bilbo to separate the feel of Thorin’s response, chest expanded against Bilbo’s back, the rumble of words felt against Bilbo’s turned cheek, and the audible sound of the words captured in the still air between them.

“I’ve felt your gaze upon me all day. Don’t imagine that you’ve been able to hide your thoughts from me.”

Bilbo’s chest went tight on an indrawn breath, a touch of embarrassment flushed his skin at the thought of being so transparent in his regard. Hobbits were far from prudish but there were still basic manners to consider.

Before he could decide how best to respond to Thorin’s words, his thoughts were washed away by the feel of Thorin’s hand as it found its way under the waist of his trousers and posessively palmed skin. Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s forearm as the dwarf pushed lower still, half to steady himself and half in protest. The cuff of Thorin’s shirt slipped up leaving Bilbo with warm skin and hair pressed against the grain as Thorin continued his explorations in spite of Bilbo’s shocked grip. Thick dwarven fingers split around the base of Bilbo’s erection, thumb and first finger curved down to the left, the remaining fingers to the right. Bilbo’s cock jumped and strained against the front of his pants and the vee of Thorin’s fingers.

“What is it that inspires you so, ‘ibinê?” Thorin asked hot against his neck.

Blunt fingers curled and scraped lightly along Bilbo’s skin. They dragged his short hairs with them, pricking and tugging in a delightful manner. Bilbo’s hips pushed up into the touch, chasing the sensation.

“Thorin, this isn’t the place,” he tried. He had entirely lost track of where they were in relation to the public rooms but there were a number of families in residence, not to mention the host of dwarves they’d brought with them.

Thorin grumbled in response but the wood beneath Bilbo’s hand swung away and he was pushed into a room. Bilbo had just enough time to register that the room was blessedly empty before he was once again crowded up against what he now realized was a door. This time his back was pushed against the solid support of the door and Thorin’s hands were firmly planted just behind his shoulders. Fenced in and unable to see the room beyond for the span of chest before him, Bilbo was effectively caught. The realization made him shiver in delight.

Thorin flashed him a feral smile, shadowed in the dusk of the room. “Do not tell me Hobbits do not understand shared passion. No matter what stories you tell your young, I know Hobbits are not grown in gardens.”

The absurdity of the turn in conversation was undercut by the thick thigh wedged between his own. Bilbo was forced up on his toes as he rode the heavily muscled length. Pleasure spiked painfully and he cursed even as his hips rocked forward. The curse was followed by an absolutely filthy proposition that got him a growl in response. 

Thorin bent forward, crowding Bilbo impossibly closer. “Perhaps I shall let you make good on that promise this evening.” 

Bilbo could feel the heat in his calves building from the strain of holding himself over Thorin’s thigh, a position that was entirely counter to his desires at this point. He let his weight settle on Thorin more fully, grinding down with relish. The feeling was delicious.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Thorin dragged his mouth along the edge of Bilbo’s ear. The feeling of warm, slightly chapped lips was almost lost beneath the electric shock of his beard rasping across suddenly sensitive skin. “What is it you imagine that causes you to grow so hard for me?”

Bilbo brought his hands up to brace against Thorin’s chest, not pushing away, looking for a rock to steady himself on in the storm. Beneath his palms the fabric of Thorin’s tunic was just as thin as he knew it would be. He could clearly feel solid muscle made impossibly harder by Thorin’s efforts to help balance Bilbo. One of his fingers caught on the small hill of one of the Thorin’s piercings and he dragged his finger against it just to see his dwarrow’s expression twist in pleasure. 

Thorin refused to be distracted. “What fevered images fill your head? Tell me so that I can make them true.”

Bilbo couldn’t answer even if he wanted to, which he most assuredly did not if it resulted in such attentions. “Touch me,” he demanded, giving up all pretense of unwillingness. He pushed up again with his toes and leaned in. With a twist of his hips he could rock the full length of his erection from root to tip in an almost perfect stroke. 

Instead of helping, Thorin shifted his grip and firmly stilled Bilbo’s movements. Pinned between the dwarf and the door, Bilbo hung panting.

“Tell me, ‘arsûn.” Thorin had learned early on that there was very little Bilbo would refuse him when he used such a tone. Hotly whispered words had broken Bilbo on more than one occasion. And over the last decade, Thorin had devoted himself quite diligently to learning just the right turn phrase and deep register to inflame Bilbo’s lust.

Bilbo bucked against Thorin’s hold and the world skipped a moment in pleasure between the pressure on his cock and Thorin’s firm hands on his body. The unexpected move pushed Thorin back by the smallest of margins but he returned immediately. He pushed forward and the sound of his knee and boot knocking against the door was sudden and loud enough to remind Bilbo where they were. Bilbo felt his attention slipping but Thorin had him, even in this.

“No,” he growled and set his teeth to Bilbo’s collar bone to nip sharply. “With me,” he demanded. He rocked his thigh between Bilbo’s legs and Bilbo’s focus snapped back to his dwarf and the overwhelming ache of his desire.

Bilbo rocked his hips in answer and Thorin rewarded him with another sharp bite. The feeling of teeth against skin, even muted by the fabric of his shirt, was in delicious counterpoint to the burning pleasure he found in driving his cock against the crease of Thorin’s thigh and hip, now pressed close. 

Thorin lapsed into khuzdul, dark promises and filthy phrases that Bilbo couldn’t spare the attention to translate but understood intimately. He could feel Thorin’s erection pressing insistently into his belly at the extreme end of each thrust. He yanked Thorin forward so that they were pressed together from chest to belly to thigh, encouraging Thorin to join the dance.

In the heated press Bilbo lost the direction of their passion. One moment he was driving Thorin towards the edge, the next he was chasing his own high. In the end it didn’t even matter as the world narrowed down to the sight and smell and sound of their joint pleasure. Somewhere between one thrust and the next Thorin growled out a curse and dug in with fingers and teeth. Bilbo knocked his head back against the door and whined as Thorin went impossibly still.

“Please, please, please…” he babbled as Thorin’s weight drove him into the door fully and stopped all movement. For a long moment he hung suspended between Thorin and his own pleasure, then blunt fingers curled against his throat and Thorin’s mouth claimed his own. It was off center and more teeth than anything soft but the pressure along his throat grounded him.

“Show me then,” Thorin rumbled low and commanding. His hand cupped against Bilbo’s erection again but this time his fingers by-passed Bilbo’s cock entirely to cup his stones and press insistently against the skin just below. Cock trapped between Thorin’s forearm and his own belly Bilbo, stones cradled with unescapable pressure below, Bilbo gladly fell into his own pleasure.

Time stuttered and skipped as it does with only the best of circumstances and Bilbo found himself loose limbed and out a breath, drunk on the rush of pleasure. Thorin slowly pulled back. With a level of coordination that Bilbo would could only admire, he had them across the room and tumbled into a bed without a single barked shin or stubbed toe. 

Bilbo’s mind blearily noted that the linens were not in the least bit familiar. They would owe someone quite the apology it seemed. But that was a worry for later because Thorin was sprawled out beside him on his back and it was impossible not to touch. Thorin drew in deep breaths like a great bellows and Bilbo dropped his cheek to Thorin’s chest to hear and feel the air being drawn in.

“That was entirely…” 

Bilbo couldn’t think of the word he wanted to use there and honestly wasn’t even sure why he was trying. Thorin hummed beneath him and Bilbo rode another deep breath. Thorin’s hand crept up his back and buried itself in his curls alternatively clenching and scratching lightly.

They were both going to need to change and hopefully before someone came looking for them. But Bilbo could hear Thorin’s heartbeat as it slowed and his breaths were taking on a deeper rhythmic cadence that drew Bilbo with him toward sleep. His last thought as he swept his hand up Thorin’s side to palm a bit of fabric just beyond his nose was one of utter satisfaction.

They had two months more in the Shire and Bilbo planned to enjoy each and every day of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the always wonderful bubbysbub who did a last minute read through and whose feedback and questions resulted in a fuller story. Without her help, this would certainly be less in so many ways.
> 
> Many thanks also to the Mods for the Happy Hobbit Holiday Challenge (rutobuka, mithrilbikini, mcmanatea, & serenbach). I can't imagine the work that goes into coordinating something like this but it's got to be hard. Thanks for shepherding us all safely through the holiday madness and for all your work to ensure everyone had a Happy Hobbity Holiday!


End file.
